Shards of Erised
by Garbage and City Lights
Summary: Set in 5th year. Hogwarts is on the lookout for Voldemort, but he has one of his darkest creations already lurking among them. She's cunning. She's smart. She's whatever they want her to be.
1. Bond of Blood

--I own Desiree McDaniels. That's it. Everyone else is the product of that wonderful woman J.K. Rowling. Expect more chapters soon.--  
  
Long, white fingers gently touched the ornate golden frame.  
"You have found it," murmured a voice.  
"Y-y-yes, Master," another whispered back. Its owner was hidden discreetly back in the shadows.  
"Quite an excellent job." The fingers ran lightly over the delicate etchings, savoring every curve and impression as if the frame had suddenly become sweet wine. "Quite an excellent job, if I _do _say so myself." The second voice in the darkness let out a nervous laugh of relief.  
"Th-thank you, M-master," it gasped. There was a very long pause as the fingertips took in the elaborate designs; after what seemed an eternity of nothing but silence and the shallow breathing of the second presence, the first spoke again.  
"Bring me my wand," it said softly.  
"Y-yes, Master." Footsteps shuffled off into the darkness. The owner of the quiet voice and the long, white fingers stepped back slightly in a billow of black robes.  
"Quite a work of art. Quite a work in-_deed."_ The second reappeared quite suddenly, a shaking silver hand offering a slender wooden stick.  
"Y-y-y-your w-wand, M-m--"  
"Quiet," snapped the one in black robes. "You're starting to sound as bad as that idiot Quirrell."  
"F-forgive me, Master," the second whispered. "I do not wish to anger--"  
"Then give me the knife." There was another long hesitation; the black-robed one turned slowly from the golden frame. "Are you deliberately defying my orders?"  
"No, no--" The smaller, shakier figure shook its head hard. "No, it's just -- you're too weak, Master, to make such a sacr--" Folds of black robes swished in an angry, almost snakelike sound.  
"Give. Me. The. Knife." A flash of blade shone sharply in the dim light; the long, white fingers overturned to expose an equally white palm. The first presence grasped the handle of the knife greedily, and the second drew back farther into the darkness.  
"You are too weak, Master," he repeated in a hushed voice.  
"Silence." Black robes swished again as the taller, thinner shadow turned back to the golden frame. There was a long, terribly tense moment of silence before it pressed the tip of the blade gently to the pad of its white hand. Slowly, the first drew the shining edge across the length of its palm, a steady river of crimson liquid following as if a red string had been tied to the knife's handle. It continued without even a grunt of discomfort until the blade ran out of pale skin to sever; the hand's owner lifted its palm to the smooth surface lying within the frame. It was a mirror. "With my blood I bear thee," the shadow whispered. "With my blood I bid thee. With my blood --" It lifted its palm to the glass and smeared the scarlet liquid in two large, interlinking circles. "-- I bind thee," it finished with a dry whisper. The white hand was pulled back, but the runnels of crimson down its fingers went unnoticed. "Smash the mirror," its owner ordered suddenly.  
"B-but --"  
"Smash the mirror," the one in black robes repeated, tone cold as ice. The second wordlessly clenched its fist -- the silver one -- and placed it parallel to the glass of the mirror. Its surface was flawless, aside from the two interlocking rings of blood. After a very brief pause, silver met silver and the mirror shattered into a thousand tiny diamonds, rising into the air like a horde of terrible jagged, shimmering insects. An unholy splintering noise filled the air; the owner of the silver hand drew back sharply, rubbing its knuckles even though there were no cuts.  
"Are you sure this is right, Master?"  
"You are acting as if you _want _to be punished," whispered the first voice.  
"N-no, I don't --"  
"Yes, I am sure," it went on, and lifted the white hand to its thin lips. Slowly, almost lovingly, it traced the rivulet of blood with its tongue, savoring the coppery taste like a scarlet wine. "As sure as I stand here before you, this is _right_." There was a dry, sinister chuckle; it licked the blood from its lips, careful not to miss a drop. "Right as _rain."_ A thousand pale, horrible faces lay on the grounds in shards, glinting and glimmering in the dim light.  
"As you say, Master," the second voice mumbled, and lapsed back into silence once again.  



	2. An Awkward Entrance

--I own Desiree McDaniels. That's it. Everyone else is the product of that wonderful woman J.K. Rowling. I'm really sorry for how short this chapter is, but I couldn't find a better way to continue. The following chapters will be longer, I promise. Scout's honor.--  
  
"This year will prove to be a most interesting year, I believe."  
  
Dumbledore looked over the students briefly. His eyes were normally merry and twinkling at all the festivities of the Great Hall, but the feast to begin the term was quite a bit more solemn than usual. Dumbledore was rather quiet as well, but that was to be expected. Everyone was on red-alert this year, and for good reason.  
"As most of you may remember, at the end of last year's term, we suffered a staggering loss." The Great Hall was suddenly very, _very _still -- even the Slytherins had fallen silent. "Though the time has come for caution," Dumbledore went on, "the time has not come for _panic. _Caution and panic are entirely different things." He paused thoughtfully. "As are apricots and brussel sprouts." There was a short silence in which the students of Hogwarts would've normally laughed or tittered amongst themselves. A few smiled briefly, but the gravity of the situation was still hanging thickly in the air. Dumbledore seemed to acknowledge this with a slight grimace. "Nevertheless, we must stand strong in this time of somber silence. And so, we will continue with the festivities as usual." He clapped his hands twice, and the food appeared as it always did. The first years marveled over this miracle; the rest of the students merely picked up their forks and proceeded to eat. Dumbledore looked slowly up at the enchanted ceiling, leaving his food untouched. The dome displayed a dark sky, thick and heavy with black clouds. "Oh, yes," he murmured quietly. "This year will be a most interesting year indeed."  
  
Ron helped himself to a generous portion of boiled potatoes.  
"Dumbledore sure sounded different this year," he said thoughtfully, and shoveled a forkful of the vegetables into his mouth.  
"He has every right to." Hermione was taking delicate bites of steak, eyes flicking about the Great Hall in slight interest as she inspected the first-years. "He and the Ministry of Magic have been working overtime to safe-proof Hogwarts." Harry was silent as he poked around in a pile of steaming carrots. Hermione noticed; she set aside her fork and gave his arm a slight nudge. "You all right, Harry?"  
"You haven't said a word since the Sorting," Ron mumbled through a mouthful of potatoes. Hermione wrinkled her nose in distaste.  
_"Honestly, _Ron," she said disgustedly. "Don't speak with your mouth full." He stuck his tongue out, making her cringe at the bits of food clinging to it.  
"Who are you, my mother?"  
"God help me if I were," Hermione muttered, and glanced back at Harry. "What's wrong, really?"  
"Nothing," he said softly. Harry paused, then set his fork neatly beside his plate. "I'm just kind of tired."  
"Rough summer?" Seamus asked from a few seats down.  
"You should _see _the Muggles he lives with!" Ron exclaimed, finally swallowing the large lump of potatoes in his mouth. _"Every _summer is a rough summer!"  
"No, it's not that." Harry took a sip from his goblet and tried to ignore the plaintive stare Hermione had fixed him with.  
"Harry, is it about last year?" she asked quietly.  
"No." He knew he'd been too quick to answer; Harry's eyes drifted down to Cho at the Ravenclaw table. She was just as pretty as ever, though she looked considerably worse for wear -- pale and thin, like she hadn't eaten in days. Cho certainly wasn't touching the feast before her, and Harry hoped wildly that she wasn't starving herself in an effort to compensate for... for what she'd lost.  
"It wasn't your fault," Hermione said gently, laying a hand on his shoulder. Harry nodded slowly, but his eyes never left Cho.  
"Right," he murmured. "Right."  
  
Filch opened the doors to the Great Hall quite suddenly.  
_"Headmaster!"_ he screeched, voice piercing, and several students covered their ears in surprise. Harry and Ron whirled in their seats to see what was going on.  
"Yes, Argus?" Dumbledore asked pleasantly. The caretaker was at the door of the Great Hall, livid and nearly foaming at the mouth. A lantern was clutched in one wrinkled hand -- Harry frowned. Were Filch's hands _shaking?_  
"Headmaster, there is something --" He paused, sputtering for words. "-- _something _lurking around the school grounds!"  
"Argus, this is most irregular," Dumbledore said evenly.  
"Yes, Headmaster, I know, but-- " Filch shook the lantern for emphasis. "-- _something --"_ Professor Dumbledore nodded slightly, never losing his steady air of calm.  
"All right. All right, Argus. Rubeus." He looked to Hagrid, who was sitting at the end of the table as usual, bushy caterpillar eyebrows raised. "Can you take a quick walk around Hogwarts' grounds and look for anything suspicious?"  
"Yes, Professor," Hagrid rumbled, and got slowly to his feet.  
"No need, sir," murmured a quiet voice from the door. The majority of the students who hadn't lost interest swiveled their heads to see who had spoken.  
  
It was a girl.  
  
She was thin, almost to the point of looking anorexic -- just not quite. Her skin was a sallow, pale color, a light sprinkling of freckles crossing her nose. The girl's hair was a mousy brown that fell in limp curls around her face and hid her downcast eyes. She wore black Hogwarts robes, Harry noticed, that looked nearly as tattered as Ron's. He would never tell Ron that, however.  
"I'm -- I'm very sorry, Headmaster --" The girl closed the door with her foot, making a loud _slam _that caused half the Great Hall to wince. "-- I couldn't get on the platform, and I missed the train, and I couldn't figure out how to get to the Great Hall --" Her gaze remained on the floor, but Harry thought she might be crying. "-- _sorry," _she mumbled.  
"Don't apologize," Dumbledore said pleasantly. "It's easy to accept misunderstandings and mishaps such as this. Take a seat with your house." The girl lingered at the door, face tipped down at the floor.  
"...haven't been..." she whispered, voice barely audible.  
"Speak up," Dumbledore said; though he hadn't meant it to be cruel, it must've sounded so to the girl's ears. She flushed crimson and dropped one of her books. Half of the Slytherin table broke into muffled laughter. Harry shot them a sharp glance and wasn't surprised to find Malfoy among the snickerers.  
"Why don't they leave her alone?" Ron whispered to Harry. "She hasn't done anything wrong." Harry nodded his agreement.  
"I..." The girl cleared her throat nervously, then swallowed hard. "I haven't been sorted yet." That did it; the Slytherin table erupted into vicious sniggers. She flushed an even brighter red, and it was apparent to Harry now that she _was _crying.  
"Quiet," Dumbledore ordered firmly. The Slytherins silenced immediately, but Malfoy smirked and whispered to Crabbe and Goyle behind his hand. Harry wanted to knock the smirk right off of that pointed face of his. "Are you a 1st year, my dear?" The girl shook her head hard. "What year are you, then?" Dumbledore laced his hands complacently in his lap and waited for an answer.  
"I'm a 5th year," she said very softly.  
"Why haven't you been sorted?" the headmaster asked kindly. Suddenly, the girl no longer wanted to be in front of the hundreds of other students. Her cheeks a bright, burning red, she stared at the ground and began to speak very quickly.  
"I've been home-schooled by my parents but this year my mother got very sick and she can't teach me anymore so I've been sent here and everything's just gone _horribly _wrong..." She paused to take a long, shuddering breath. "...I have a letter," she added meekly, waving around a sad and wrinkled piece of paper.  
"Let me see, dear," Dumbledore said gently. The girl, head tipped down so far the underside of her chin brushed her chest, shuffled up towards the teacher's seating. As she passed the Slytherin table, Malfoy muttered into his hand,  
"Nice entrance."  
"Shove it, Malfoy," Harry hissed, but he knew his insult went unheard. It was _cruel, _the way they were treating her... but then again, that was Malfoy.  
"Thank you, dear," Dumbledore murmured, taking the letter and peering at it through his half-moon glasses. There was a pause; most of the students had lost interest and gone back to eating. Hermione was among them, but Ron and Harry continued to watch the miserable girl. So did Malfoy, unfortunately. " 'I, Renee McDaniels,' " Dumbledore read clearly, " 'hereby admit my daughter, Desiree McDaniels, into her 5th year of schooling at Hogwarts, School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. She has received a letter of acceptance prior to her home-schooling, and due to my unscheduled absence, I hope she will be accepted now as well.' "  
"I promise it's true, Headmaster," the girl whispered.  
"I believe you." Dumbledore's twinkling blue eyes looked down at her kindly. "Take a seat on the stool right there, Miss McDaniels." She nodded and hurried to the stool that McGonagall had hurriedly set out again, then sat slowly.  
"I'm betting 5 sickles on Hufflepuff," Malfoy snickered to Goyle.  
_"Shove _it, Malfoy!" Harry said again, and he was almost sure that Malfoy could hear him this time. No reaction, however. McGonagall placed the ragged black hat on the head of the girl -- Desiree -- and stepped back, looking slightly aggravated.  
"In-_ter_-esting," the Sorting Hat said loudly. "In-_ter_-esting indeed." Desiree, who was still burning a bright crimson, shut her eyes tightly. Doing so squeezed out a few fat tears, and Malfoy snickered again. Harry felt a thick sympathy for this plain-faced girl with mousy brown hair; he made a mental reminder to give Malfoy a good, swift kick in the bum later. He had no right to be making her already awful day worse.  
"Bloody bugger," Ron muttered under his breath.  
"I agree," Harry said quietly, and began stabbing at his peas.  
_"RAVENCLAW!" _shouted the Hat suddenly, startling them both. McGonagall ushered the Sorting Hat away again, and the red-faced Desiree McDaniels hurried to the Ravenclaw table. She wasn't greeted with quite the enthusiasm Gryffindor would've offered, Harry thought, but perhaps he was wrong. Either way, no one said a thing to the poor girl as she sat down. Except for Cho, that is. She smiled kindly at Desiree and began to murmur something, making Harry's heart warm involuntarily. He had a slight feeling that she'd be just fine. The rest of the feast went on as normal, but Harry had another feeling -- one that poor Desiree McDaniels' school year was only going to get worse. 


	3. Silver Eyes

--I own Desiree McDaniels. That's it. Everyone else is the product of that wonderful woman J.K. Rowling. From here... the plot thickens.--  
  
A week passed from the start-of-the-term banquet, and things went on as normal. Draco had abandoned his normal pastime -- pestering Potter and Company -- in the face of a new hobby: ridiculing Desiree McDaniels. It wasn't as if she were a challenge; she had a face that, to Draco, just begged to be tormented. "Here I am," it seemed to cry. "Point out what _else _is wrong with me! I like it, I swear!" McDaniels' entrance helped as well, and it all added up to one great big heap of fun for Draco Malfoy.  
  
To begin with, Slytherins and Ravenclaws shared a Transfigurations class. McDaniels sat a few seats ahead of Draco. He had expected her to be a bumbling fool when it came to magic, but she disappointed him; home-schooling must've paid off, because she handled the Transfiguration beautifully. That, to Draco, was yet another cry to be ridiculed.  
"Look at her," he said under his breath to Crabbe and Goyle, who were flanking him as usual. They watched in silence as McDaniels pointed her wand at a glass of water and successfully -- _flawlessly _-- transformed it into a bowl of cherries. She half-smiled down at it.  
"Professor," she said softly, flagging down McGonagall. "I've completed the assignment."  
"She's as bad as Hermione," Draco muttered, and his cronies sniggered.  
"Very good, Miss McDaniels," McGonagall said, pleased. "You may experiment a bit more if you wish until the rest of the class finishes up." McDaniels half-smiled at the teacher now.  
"Thank you." Draco rolled his eyes in distaste. It was disgusting, and had to be stopped.  
"Watch this," he murmured to Crabbe and Goyle, raising his wand. McDaniels had just picked up a cherry from the bowl to pop into her mouth; Draco whispered the spell he had in mind -- one his father had taught him for low-power firecrackers -- and jerked the wand sharply. The cherry in McDaniels' hand exploded in a small cloud of red juice and pulp, spattering her face and the front of her robes. Draco had been planning to play innocent afterwards, but he couldn't help it -- the look on her face, half-masked by cherry innards, was just too precious to ignore. He burst into laughter the moment he lowered his wand, and McGonagall was particularly observant that day.  
"Mr. Malfoy," she said sharply. Draco stifled his laughter immediately. At least he'd gotten _that _much out -- if he hadn't laughed at all, he knew he would've exploded. Just like that cherry had. The thought nearly made him collapse in laughter again, but he escaped with a strangled snicker that sounded more like a cough.  
"Yes, Professor --" McGonagall looked at him with her hard eyes and he fell silent again. That little incident cost Slytherin fifteen points, but it didn't matter to Draco; if he was ever having a bad day, the image of McDaniels with a faceful of cherry juice and wide, bewildered eyes would be enough to cheer him up.  
  
He was heading for the dungeons that night when he thought he heard someone following him. Draco stopped and tilted his head, listening hard.  
"Come out, come out," he murmured to no one, and felt a faint flush of embarrassment. He'd been going to Hogwarts for five years now and he still couldn't distinguish between the castle's sounds and footsteps. "Stupid," Draco muttered. He continued walking -- then came to a dead halt when the phantom footsteps started up again.  
"Hello?" he said again, less confident. "Anyone there?" Draco jumped as footsteps suddenly echoed around the corner. "Stupid," he repeated. "Getting skittish now whenever I hear the slightest sound. I'm acting like Potter. I'm going to wait until whoever it is catches up with me, and _then _they'll get it --" Nevertheless, his body tensed until the shadow rounded the corner and light revealed who it was. "McDaniels?" Draco sputtered in surprise, then recovered with a sneer. "What are you doing here? Ravenclaw common rooms are _upstairs, _in case you haven't memorized the layout of the school yet." He smirked. "Or mastered the art of climbing stairs." The McDaniels Klutz, as he'd aptly named her, stood there in near-silence. She was wearing a dull gray sweatshirt (still covered with splatters of cherry juice, which almost started him laughing again) and jeans beneath her Hogwarts robes. Her mousy-brown hair was mussed.  
"Hello, Malfoy," she said quietly.  
"Honestly," Draco went on flawlessly, "you'd think that one would take more pride in their appearance. You look worse than Weasley's mother." He paused, then added with a smirk, "Come back for more cherries, hm?" McDaniels stood there for a moment, her dull blue eyes inspecting him with something along the lines of faint interest.  
"What are you doing out here?" Her tone had dropped even more, and there was something faint and whispery shifting under her words. Draco shivered involuntarily, then scolded himself for doing so.  
"That's none of your business," he responded coolly. "This is, after all, my house's corridor." McDaniels rose one brow slightly, and Draco shivered again. He didn't know why, but she was looking less and less like the McDaniels Klutz every moment.  
"Tell me, Malfoy," she murmured, taking a step towards him. "What do you want?" He frowned a little. The bird was babbling.  
"I don't want anything. _You're _the one down here, lurking about where you have no business to--"  
"No, you misunderstand me." Her eyes flicked over him briefly. "What do you _really _want?" She took another step towards him, and Draco involuntarily stumbled backwards.  
"Stop pestering me," he snapped, trying to hide the unease in his voice. "Go back to your own common room. It's after hours, you're not even supposed to be--"  
"What do you _really _want, Malfoy?" McDaniels whispered. He took a few more steps back and felt his shoulderblades hit stone; he was trapped, and even though this girl was about as harmless as a piece of Swiss cheese, Draco's heart sped up. Something wasn't right.  
"McDaniels, I'll tell Snape -- I really will --" He began to inch to his left, trying to find a way out. "He'll take away fifteen points -- no, _fifty _points for bothering me --" McDaniels didn't seem bothered. She paused, looking him over slowly. Something wasn't right -- and then it clicked. Her eyes.  
  
_Oh my God, _Draco thought suddenly, _her eyes are silver.  
  
_Her liquid metal eyes flicked over him yet again; at last, they seemed to find what they were looking for. McDaniels smiled. _There's something wrong with her, _he thought frantically. _I need to get out of here, she's been possessed, there's a spell on her, she's going to do something horrible, she's going to--_  
_"There _it is," she murmured, voice quiet.  
"I'll tell Snape," Draco said weakly. Apparently, that had _not _been the right thing to say; McDaniels closed in fast, moving with surprising swiftness. Before he knew what was going on, she had him pinned back against the wall, arms pressed tightly to his sides. "What are you --" he began, and abruptly stopped.  
  
She started to change.  
  
Her face melted in a rush of shining silver; her hair twisted like snakes and thinned into nonexistence. McDaniels had her head tilted back and her eyes closed, making it a perfect opportunity for Draco to attempt escape. But he couldn't. He was frozen in terror, and perhaps that was just as well -- who knew what she might do if he tried to run now? Her breath escaped her in a kind of quiet scream, and Draco squeezed his own eyes closed. _I'll never make fun of her again, _he told himself frantically. _I'll never make fun of her again, I'll never make fun of her again, I promise, I promise..._  
"Erised," she murmured. "Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on woshi." _She's speaking in another language, _Draco thought wildly. _She's putting a spell on me, some kind of foreign spell, isn't _that _just _grand?  
"Please don't hurt me," he pleaded softly, but her hands were still tight on his sleeves. There was a long, terrible moment of silence.  
"Open your eyes, Draco," McDaniels whispered huskily in his ear. He didn't want to -- he had no desire to see what monstrosity she'd become. But he did anyway.  
  
She was _gorgeous.  
  
_It wasn't McDaniels anymore, at least not as far as Draco could see; this girl in front of him was her complete opposite. She was slender, but not skinny -- all the right curves in all the right places, as his father probably would've said. Her mousy brown hair had become a thick, golden blonde, hanging loosely down her back in fat curls. Even her _face _was different; she was still just as pale, but her freckles were gone and she had lost the sallow milk color of one who's constantly ready to throw up. Her cheekbones had become higher, more defined, and her bone structure was more delicate. But perhaps the best part was that McDaniels no longer had those horribly cold silver eyes -- now they were blue, blue enough to catch the light and gleam like blue diamonds.  
"M-McDaniels?" Draco whispered in disbelief. He felt he'd been shocked into a haze of panic, and now that panic was slowly giving way to wonder. The Not-Quite-McDaniels smiled, a smiled of unusually white and even teeth. _A smile that belongs on the cover of some pin-up magazine, _Draco thought suddenly.  
"Desiree," she murmured, leaning closer. "My name is _Desiree. _And you will do well to remember it." Finally, he regained control of himself; Draco's mouth twitched into a smirk.  
"Nice parlor trick, _McDaniels," _he said drily, and began an attempt to squirm away. "Now let me go and maybe I'll think twice before reporting you to Snape." He managed to get an arm free, but just as he did she slammed him hard against the wall and pinned his arms tightly to his side once again.  
"I believe," McDaniels said coolly, "that I said my name was _Desiree."_ Startled, Draco could only blink at first. Then he smirked.  
"I'll just have to work harder on that, won't I?" McDaniels managed a smirk of her own.  
"Yes, you will," she said quietly. That flutter of something not quite right whispered under her words again, but Draco hardly had time to worry about that, because it was at that very moment that she pressed her mouth against his.  
"Mmph!" he protested loudly through her lips. Desiree didn't back off, only seemed to force her mouth harder on his. _How dare she! _Draco thought furiously. _How dare she even think of making such a -- _He heard himself make a soft noise, and Draco felt his tightly tensed muscles relax a little. Perhaps it _wasn't _such a horrible thing she'd just done.  
"Think you'll remember my name now?" Desiree whispered, pulling back much too quickly. Draco gasped for breath to slow his racing heart. That had felt -- with no other way to put it -- _perfect._ Suddenly, it didn't matter anymore that she had melted into silver, or that she had all but hunted him down like a dog, or that they were snogging right there in the Slytherin hall after hours. Because quite suddenly, he wanted her. Badly.  
"Desiree," Draco said breathlessly. "Your name is Desiree." Her mouth curled into a smile, another one that belonged on a magazine cover. _Maybe not a magazine cover, _he thought hazily. _Maybe a movie screen. Or an oil painting._  
"Very good," Desiree said, releasing one of his arms. Her hand crept up to brush a few errant strands of silvery-blonde hair away from his forehead. Draco made no move to escape.  
"How did you do that?" he asked, voice awed, then he blushed in embarrassment. "Not -- not that, but changing into someone else -- you don't look half bad." She laughed quietly under her breath, a sound that sent his heart racing again for two different reasons.  
"Questions later, Draco-dear." Desiree paused, her movie-star mouth twitched into a halfways smirk. "Questions later. We have more important things to deal with right now."  
"Like what?" Draco asked softly, and hoped she wouldn't notice that his free arm was snaking around her waist. She did.  
"This, apparently," she said, amused. He felt his face burn again.  
"I --"  
"Don't explain." Desiree paused again, then placed one long, slender finger over his lips. "Don't talk, either. In fact --" She tipped her face towards Draco's, slipping her finger away. "-- don't do _anything."_ Desiree just barely moistened his lips with hers and drew back again. He felt a strange sense of disappointment. _Not fair, _he thought sullenly, _not fair at all._  
"I don't take orders from women," Draco said coolly, grasping at his old air of arrogance. Desiree's now-blue eyes very briefly glinted silver; he cringed at the sight of it. Something about those silvery eyes made his skin crawl... but it didn't matter, because they were blue again, so blue that when they caught the light one might think they were jewels instead of eyes.  
"You'll take orders from this one," Desiree whispered huskily, and their lips met in another smoldering kiss.  
  
It went on like that for another fifteen minutes of pure bliss before she went a step farther. Draco made a soft sound of protest when she drew away, but Desiree had something more important than his whining, it seemed. Quickly, almost harshly, she pulled the black Hogwarts robes right off his shoulders and dropped them on the floor.  
"What are you doing?" he asked in a breathless whisper. It was one thing to snog in the hall, but it was quite another to go past that to... well, to something more than kissing.  
"Sh," Desiree ordered softly, fingers moving swiftly to unbutton the white shirt that had been exposed. Draco frowned and shook his head slowly. He placed his hands on her shoulders in an effort to push her back, noting dully that she didn't have her cherry-splattered sweatshirt on anymore. It was a low-cut black dress, one that nearly made his mouth water. But he had to stop this -- no matter how good she looked in that slinky black thing.  
"We can't do --"  
_"Sh," _she repeated, and pressed her mouth hard against his. He felt his muscles melt into submission once again as Desiree finished unbuttoning his shirt. She drew back slightly, but her eyes weren't on his face -- they were on his chest. Draco's cheeks blushed bright crimson. She didn't pay any attention.  
"What are you --"  
"Erised," Desiree whispered, placing a fingertip on the pale skin of his chest. It shocked him, how cold her finger was, but Draco couldn't pull away. It was as if she'd paralyzed him. It was as if her finger had turned...  
  
...to silver.  
  
The spot she'd touched began to glow a faint, pulsating red; it throbbed every few seconds, and Draco realized it was his heartbeat.  
"Wh --" He began another question, but Desiree stopped it with her lips. It had the same effect as it normally did, but this time -- it was _more. _Not only did his muscles relax, but they seemed to go limp and useless. He couldn't move.  
_"Erised," _Desiree repeated, drawing back for a moment, and placed her mouth next to his. This time, she didn't kiss -- she breathed in. Draco's limbs went from jelly to water, and his vision began to swim. What was happening to him?  
"Desiree?" he whispered confusedly.  
"Not now, love," she said softly. "I'm busy." Desiree took another whispery breath. His muscles went from water to nonexistence; he frowned, unable to comprehend what was happening. Draco opened his mouth to speak again, but his voice was gone. _"Erised," _she said for a third time, and took a deep breath. His vision -- which had begun to spin wildly -- faded into darkness, and the last thing Draco remembered was that her eyes had gone back to silver again. 


	4. Word Gets Around

--I own Desiree McDaniels. That's it. Everyone else is the product of that wonderful woman J.K. Rowling.--  
  
Harry sat in Potions the next day, dreading the beginning of class. Though Snape had been rather quiet since the term started, he _was _still unpleasant as ever, and it was _not _something the Gryffindors looked forward to. But what seemed to be the only bright spot was that Malfoy wasn't sitting amongst the two lumps that were Crabbe and Goyle; Harry hoped it was a sign of a halfway decent morning.  
"Mr. Malfoy," Snape said sharply as he entered the classroom, "will not be joining us today." His black eyes flicked over the class, and Harry wondered -- not for the first time -- if Snape was somewhat psychic. Perhaps he was just lucky; either way, he'd make a better Divination teacher than Trelawney.  
"Professor! Professor!" Pansy Parkinson was sitting straight up in her seat, her arm raised and waving around wildly in the air. She looked like a rather unpleasant version of Hermione.  
"Yes, Miss Parkinson?" Snape asked with a very slight curl of his lip. It seemed that he was very easily set off today; Harry groaned mentally. Chances were he'd lose nearly fifty points before the class was over.  
"I was wondering -- um -- " Pansy blushed a faint pink. " -- why he's not in class?" Snape brushed past her with a billow of black robes.  
"Worry not, Miss Parkinson," he said drily. "Mr. Malfoy is _hardly _in a dire condition. He's merely incapacitated for a while." He paused, then added in a cool tone, "I suspect Mr. Malfoy was up a little... _late _last night." Ron smiled behind his hand.  
"Must be the apocalypse," he said under his breath. "Snape's speaking less than flattery about Mal --"  
"Weasley," Snape snapped. "Two points from Gryffindor." Ron burned red beneath his freckles and fell silent.  
  
"Harry! Harry! You'll never believe it!" Fred and George thundered across the Quidditch field just as Harry was getting ready for practice. He'd missed Quidditch all summer and was desperately hoping to get back to his broom, so he was more than a little impatient as he looked up.  
"What won't I ever believe?" Harry asked, trying to seem polite. The Weasley twins were flushed from running; apparently, they'd come from the entire end of the school. They began one of their famous speeches in which they finished each other's sentences, making it a bit hard for Harry to follow.  
"Well, we know how you dislike Malfoy --"  
"Hate the bugger, really --"  
"-- well, we don't like him much either --"  
"-- but that's not the point."  
"Anyway, we were just pestering Crabbe and Goyle --"  
"-- merely for educational purposes, of course."  
"It's sort of like studying apes, really."  
"Anyway --"  
"Slow down," Harry said suddenly. "I'm losing you, take breaths." Fred and George took a couple of deep, heaving breaths for show, then plowed right ahead at the same speed.  
"-- we found out why Malfoy's not in class today --"  
"-- and we think you'll really enjoy it --"  
"-- it's a humdinger, Harry, a real _peach --"_  
"Just tell me!" he said in exasperation. His feet were all but itching to leave the ground. Fred and George exchanged glances and suddenly grinned widely.  
"Apparently, Snape wasn't joking about him being up late last night."  
"They found him this morning." Harry had been preparing to push off -- polite was polite, but it was getting ridiculous -- when he saw the gleam in the twins' eyes. He dropped back to the ground again.  
"What do you mean 'found him'?" he asked slowly.  
_"Apparently," _Fred said, grinning from ear to ear, "Snape was finishing his nightly rounds after hours when he came back to the dungeons and found Malfoy outside the Slytherin common room."  
"Unconscious," George added. They both grinned again, then said in unison,  
"With lipstick marks all over his mouth." Harry nearly fell off his broom.  
"What?" he asked incredulously. Fred was long gone; he had already broken into hysterics, but George barely managed to answer.  
"Lipstick," he gasped, "all over his mouth, some on his neck and chest."  
"A lovely shade of red, so I've heard," Fred choked through tears, and collapsed to the Quidditch field in laughter. Harry had started to laugh too -- the image was just too funny.  
"Snape found himlike _that?"_ he giggled. "Who in their right mind would --"  
"It gets better." George composed himself a little, but couldn't suppress a grin. "Not only was he unconscious with lipstick prints all over his face --" Harry snorted with laughter at the renewed thought. "-- but his _shirt _had been stripped off."  
"What?" Harry asked in genuine surprise, barely able to get it out through his giggles.  
"You heard me," George said, and started to chuckle again. "Here's the kicker: some of the buttons on his Hogwarts robes had been _popped off -- _as if -- as if whoever he was with -- just _pulled his robes right off him --" _He couldn't continue; George snorted with laughter, sending poor Fred -- who had finally regained the privilege of breathing -- into another fit of hysterics. Harry laughed so hard he had tears in his eyes as well, and he took off his glasses to wipe them away.  
"Oh... oh, that's the funniest thing I've ever heard..." He snorted again. "And _that's _why he's staying in today?"  
"The shock was too great for his system," George gasped, fighting for air between chuckles. Fred wiped away his own tears of mirth and grinned.  
"No, apparently he's exhausted --" All three of them giggled. "-- and looking paler than usual. Seems like he's caught a bug from his little friend."  
"Who would it be?" Harry had nearly forgotten about Quidditch in the face of this bit of news. He couldn't wait to tell Ron, unless he'd already heard from his brothers. And what was more, he couldn't _wait _to see Malfoy again and give him what had been coming to him for a _long _time.  
"Parkinson seems to be the only one who fancies him at all," Fred said casually, finally over his fit of laughter. George, however, started giggling anew at this statement.  
"But apparently, she doesn't wear Revlon Red," he said with a grin, and all three of them burst into hysterics once again.  
  
Crabbe knocked softly on the door to the boy's dormitory.  
"Can I come in?" he asked dully.  
_"No," _was the stiff reply, muffled by blankets and sheets. Crabbe shifted uncomfortably.  
"Well, can I at least come in tonight when I have to sleep?"  
"I don't _care." _There was a pause.  
"Are you sure you don't want me to --"  
_"Yes." _Crabbe hesitated.  
"All right," he said thickly, and trudged off to the main dormitory. Goyle was waiting for him by the door.  
"He let you in?"  
"No," Crabbe responded bluntly, slipping through the stone passageway. "Think he'll find out we accidentally told the Weasleys about what happened?"  
"Hope not," Goyle said with a shrug of his shoulders, and they both left.  
  
Draco waited for a long time to make sure they were gone. At last, when he thought the coast was clear, he pulled the sheets off of his head and gasped for sweet air. It was awfully stuffy under there.  
"Stupid," he said softly, and he wasn't quite sure who he was referring to -- his friends or himself. Draco flushed with embarrassment at the mere thought of what had happened. He scowled and ducked under the sheets again, as if the very room were able to sense his shame. The worst part was that he couldn't even _remember _the whole thing. All he knew was that now, he stood to be humiliated throughout the entire school -- that was, if Crabbe and Goyle the Amazing Ape-Men hadn't already ruined his social reputation.  
"Mr. Malfoy," said a cold voice suddenly. _"Please _remove your head from under the sheets." Draco snapped upright, yanking the covers off his head.  
"Professor," he said, startled, then scowled. "Perhaps you forgot to knock."  
"Perhaps," Snape echoed drily. He stopped at the end of Draco's bed and stood there.  
"What do you want? I'm trying to get some rest."  
"You slept fairly heavily last night," Snape said stiffly. Draco flushed red once again, ducking his head to hide it from his teacher.  
"I don't want to discuss this right now, sir," he said quietly.  
"You have made a mockery of our house." Snape, it seemed, was going to discuss it whether Draco wanted to or not. "What were you doing out that late, Mr. Malfoy?"  
"I thought I heard something," Draco mumbled to his hands.  
_"Who _was it, Mr. Malfoy?" Snape leaned forward, his face an inch from his student's. _"Who _were you with?"  
"Professor!" he cried in surprise. "I'm not --" Draco started to protest, but instead he began coughing and gasping for air. It was suddenly as if a hand had closed around his heart, cutting off his supply of oxygen. Snape jerked away, then gave Draco a hard pound on the back. He let out a very ragged cough and was finally able to breathe again. There was a long moment of silence.  
"Who was she?" Snape repeated.  
"You can't accuse me of anything, Professor," Draco said softly, trying not to stir the rattle in his chest again.  
_"There was --"_ Snape began loudly, then lowered his voice. "There was _incriminating evidence _on your face, Mr. Malfoy." Draco flushed bright red and looked downwards again.  
"I didn't --"  
"You have made a mockery of our house," Snape repeated.  
"Oh, leave me alone," Draco mumbled, and rolled over on his side. There was a very long pause. Finally, Snape's footsteps clicked sharply on the stone floors.  
"Just remember, Mr. Malfoy," he said heatedly. "Keep it in your trousers, and --" He paused, then added with a sneer, "_do _take care of your buttons from now on."  
  
Draco flushed furiously red, even though the professor had left. It was humiliating, everything that had happened, but there was something worse. Even worse than how they had found him, even worse than being unable to remember any of it. What was the worst was that he _did _remember one thing -- Desiree -- and that what had happened had been wonderful. What she had _done _had been wonderful.  
  
And, perhaps the worst of _all -- _he wanted her to do it again.  



End file.
